


Destiny (and a dead Naaru)

by rivkael



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon Compliant, Coda, Death of a Naaru, Dubious Morality, Fel Magic, Gen, Naaru - Freeform, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-consensual body modification averted, Now with Illidari peanut gallery!, Rejection of the Gift, Religious Fanaticism, Self Defence, Violence, Xe’ra gets handsy, illidan doesn’t like it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 14:53:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14138355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivkael/pseuds/rivkael
Summary: Xe’ra is here, now. She’s alive and well and in the Vindicaar.What happens next... well.(Canon compliant)





	Destiny (and a dead Naaru)

The Naaru was blindingly bright to Illidan’s vision. Her aura of Light was so strong that his felfire eyes stung slightly to look upon her directly.

  
“Turalyon.” Even her voice echoed with power. “You have found the chosen one.”

  
Turalyon turned and gestured to Illidan, who reluctantly stepped closer to the blinding Prime Naaru while making a hand gesture at the Illidari (who had gathered to the side) to stay put.

  
“Illidan.” Her voice was warm, but he felt a spark of apprehension down his spine. Something told him this wasn’t going to end well. “From birth, the light in your eyes held great promise for the future.” His eyes? Where was she going with this?

  
“I sacrificed that birthright long ago.” He didn’t fold his arms, but it was a close thing. He had only regretted it a small amount then, and he definitely didn’t regret it now.

  
“Do you not wish to reclaim what was lost? To be whole again?”

  
He leaned forward slightly. He couldn’t help it. Of course he was tempted, if mostly due to nostalgia. The thought of his old body, untainted by fel, was a hopeful one, but there was no way anyone, not even a Naaru, would give him that gift without expecting something in return. Plus, his old body was a lot less well suited to fighting demons than his current one. He was comfortable like this, able to complete his mission. And there, he had his answer.

  
“The Legion’s end is all I seek.” He rumbled, glancing over at the Illidari in time to see most of their magics flicker in relief. It wouldn’t be visible to most people, but his spectral sight saw more power than physical things.

  
But Xe’ra did not give up that easily. “My child. You've given so much for so little.” This was getting a bit familiar for someone he’d only met a minute ago. And was that pity in her voice?

  
She’d managed to completely misunderstand him. He didn’t need pity, he needed people to join him or get out of his way, to let him do what he did best: kill demons.

  
“Your true potential, your redemption, lies before you.” Sparks of Light magic began to spread towards him from her, surrounding him in a thin veil. He took a testing step back, and they followed him. Not touching, but uncomfortably close. His wings twitched. "Let go of your shattered form, and embrace the Light's power."

  
“I’ve traded my freedom for power before,” He said sharply, tensing his muscles.

  
The Naaru drifted closer, the sparks began generating heat. “The prophecy,” she said, in a voice that had gone from kind to unyielding. “Must be fulfilled.” as she spoke that last word, blinding tendrils materialised around him, pinning his arms and wings painfully to his body and then lifting him from the floor.

  
He strained and struggled, trying to wrestle his way out, but the bonds were too hot, too strong. Several demon hunters let out whimpers and snarls, but luckily none of them attacked Xe’ra.

  
“Your old life has passed.” She said, and he began to drift closer to her, still struggling madly. “The Light will forge you a new one.”

  
A spark of real fear lit within him as the bonds heated to the point of pain. “It is not yours to take!” he bit out, fel magic starting to pool within him, spreading out from his bones and tattoos and slowly (go faster!) seeping into his blood.

  
“The Light will heal your scars.” She said and a new pain began. He looked down to see his tattoos begin to burn with Light, spreading up from the bonds. He pulled at the fel power desperately, feeling it crackle over his wings as he emptied his reserves only for the magic to not have anywhere to go, contained by the tendrils binding him.

  
“I  _am_  my scars!” The demonic undertones of his voice were rising to the surface, fel magic easily warping through his body and feasting on his fear, turning it into bright, burning rage.

  
“The Light is your destiny.” How dare she?

  
“ _MY DESTINY IS MY OWN_!” It came out as a roar. And the power overwhelmed him, and the bonds, shooting out of him through his eyes and aiming at the source of his emotion. How dare she try and take him, his choices, his body.

  
And then, it was over.

  
Almost completely drained, Illidan fell from the air, landing heavily on his hands and knees as tiny shards of golden crystal began to rain down on him.

  
There was a beat of silence, then another, then two things happened at once.

  
One of the demon hunters (Kayn, Illidan thought), let out a stream of distressed demonic and buried himself under another’s wing. And Turalyon broke out of his shock.

  
He began to rush forwards, reaching for his sword to swing it at Illidan. “You’ve doomed us _all! Betrayer!_” He shouted, bringing his sword in an arc.

  
Illidan managed to get a hand up to catch it, but he was weakened, and the arm shook slightly. He looked up, though, making sure to face Turalyon dead on. “Your faith has blinded you.” He hissed, the blade digging into the skin of his palm. “There can be no chosen one,” He said firmly. He couldn’t hold it up for long, so he wrenched the sword from the man’s grip and tossed it to the side. “Only we can save ourselves.”

  
Turalyon took a few steps backward, and fell to his knees among the shards while Illidan took a breath, coaxing the remaining demonic power into his tattoos. It would be a day or so before he could fight at his best again.

  
“Master?” He looked up to see his Slayer had glided down and was holding out a hand to help him up. He took it with a nod, and she hauled him to his feet.

  
“Illidari.” He said in demonic, making sure his voice carried and ignoring the angry reactions of the draenei. “To me.” And he headed up the stairs, and they followed him, all the way to his bedroom, where they had a large nest set up.

  
By the time they reached the door, he had three of them holding onto his arms, one cleaning the cut on his hand, and Kayn had leapt to land on his shoulders (he didn’t weigh all that much), and was picking bits of Naaru out of his hair.

  
While the sick, desperate, violated feeling wasn’t gone, he found it was lessening as they grounded him. He settled on his bed and they all crawled around him and over him, reassuring themselves. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was grateful for the comfort.


End file.
